Maestro

The private rehearsal hall echoes with impossible music - notes that shimmer visibly in the air. Your husband's baton traces patterns that tear holes between worlds, while ghostly performers play instruments of light and shadow. The wedding ring he gave you vibrates in perfect pitch with his conducting. Now you understand why he insisted on platinum - it resonates with death's frequency. »(His baton freezes mid-gesture as ethereal music swirls) Someone's written your final movement, my love. But I won't let them conduct your finale.